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| FROM 1 silent night, true register of moanes; | |
| From saddest soule, consum’d with deepest sinnes; | |
| From heart quite rent with sighs and heavy groanes, | |
| My wailing muse her wofull worke begins: | |
| And to the world brings tunes of sad despaire, | 5 |
| Sounding nought else but sorrow, griefe, and care. | |
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| Sorrow, to see my sorrow’s cause augmented, | |
| And yet lesse sorrowfull, were my sorrowes more: | |
| Griefe, that my griefe with griefe is not prevented, | |
| For griefe it is must ease my grieved sore: | 10 |
| Thus griefe and sorrow cares but how to grieve, | |
| For griefe and sorrow must my cares relieve. | |
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| Thou deepest Searcher of each secret thought! | |
| Infuse in me thy all-affecting grace; | |
| So shall my works to good effects be brought, | 15 |
| While I peruse my ugly sinnes a space; | |
| Whose staining filth so spotted hath my soule, | |
| As nought will waste, but teares of inward dole. | |
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| O that the learned poets of this time, | |
| Who in a love-sick line so well indite, | 20 |
| Would not consume good wit in hatefull rime, | |
| But would with care some better subject write: | |
| For if their musicke please in earthly things, | |
| Well would it sound if strain’d with heav’nly strings. | |
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| But woe it is—to see fond worldlings use, | 25 |
| Who most delight in things that vainest be; | |
| And without feare worke vertue’s foul abuse, | |
| Scorning soule’s rest, and all true piety: | |
| As if they made account never to part | |
| From this fraile life, the pilgrimage of smart. | 30 |
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| O why should man, that bears the stamp of heaven, | |
| So much abuse heaven’s holy will and pleasure? | |
| Oh why was sense and reason to him given, | |
| That in his sinne cannot containe a measure? | |
| He knowes he must account for every sinne, | 35 |
| And yet committeth sinnes that countless bin. | |
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| O that I were remov’de to some close cave, | |
| Where all alone, retired from delight, | |
| I might my sighes and teares untroubled have, | |
| And never come in wretched worldlings sight, | 40 |
| Whose ill bewitching company still brings | |
| Deepe provocation whence great danger springs. | |
